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Friday, January 31, 2014

In the low gravity, Meredith
easily carried Jillie from the bath to the den, with Jillie’s arms and legs
wrapped around her. Meredith tapped the wall and said, “Night sky, Bermuda.”

Upstairs and down, the lights
dimmed, and the ceilings disappeared, revealing open starry skies. The effects
were seamless, worth every Hari-credit Meredith had spent. Jillie looked up at
the rich, black sky filled with countless bright stars. Simon slept more easily
under the open sky, even though he knew it was illusion.

As Meredith walked, she pointed
to Jillie’s favorite constellations. She paused in the den doorway until Simon
looked up from his tablet. “Okay, my little monkey, go give Daddy a special
hug,” she encouraged Jillie, holding her hands as their beautiful, impossible
daughter drifted down to the floor.

Jillie grinned at Simon, who sat
still, except for his fingers back and forth on his knees. Meredith scanned his
pulse and breathing from her vantage point in the doorway. Elevated. Shallow.
But acceptable. She didn’t want Jillie to push him too far though.

Jillie held her arms wide open,
palms flat. She took slow, sliding steps, watching Simon as carefully as
Meredith did. If he stiffened up, she would stop. But he stayed calm – for him
– on the couch, and held out his hands, palms to the sides to match Jillie’s
when she reached him. They clasped hands, and Jillie pushed against his,
leaning with all her might into their special open hug.

Meredith had figured it out in
the long, dark months after she had taken Simon out of the Hari. He couldn’t
tolerate any constriction, nor any light touch. She couldn’t hug him, or trail
her long dark hair over him, or run her fingers playfully over his skin.
Nothing the Hari had used – nothing she had used -- to seduce him, to break
him, to compel him to give up the information they wanted.

Eventually, face to face, palm to
palm, he could relax enough to accept her body against his. By the time Jillie
was born, he trusted himself enough to hold her if Meredith carefully wrapped
her in a blanket for her feet and hands wouldn’t startle him.

Meredith slid slowly away from
the doorway. “Okay, monkey. Off to bed with you. Come, I’ll throw you up the
stairs.”

Jillie blew kisses to Simon, who
almost didn’t flinch as her hands fluttered toward him. He tried so hard.
Jillie ran around the couch to Meredith, who grabbed around her waist and
pitched her up the stairs. Jillie giggled as she floated down to the top
landing. “Goodnight, Mama,” she called as she climbed into her hammock and
sealed it.

I think it’s cleaner, perhaps, but I also have the feeling it’s more of
a coda, an ending scene, than the beginning of the story. I think the real
story is Meredith and Simon in the Hari, and their escape from it…unless the
Hari are about to come retrieve Jillie…

Meredith tossed the kitchen towel
over her shoulder and leaned against the doorway, watching Jillie jump from
chair to chair around the table. Jillie loved their new home’s low gravity.
Simon sat on the couch, back straight, hands on his knees, rubbing them slowly
back and forth. Meredith dropped her head to the side, letting her hair fall
down, knowing it would catch his attention. When his eyes snapped toward her,
she smiled and blew him a kiss. He relaxed, marginally, but his eyes flickered
back to Jillie’s pre-bedtime antics.

Meredith knew he was thinking of
children in the mine fields. She scanned his pulse and breathing. Elevated.
Shallow. But acceptable. She didn’t want Jillie to push him too far though.
“Okay, my little monkey. Bound over here for a goodnight hug,” she called to
Jillie.

Their beautiful, impossible
daughter pushed off the closest chair and launched across the room into
Meredith’s arms. Their heads dropped together, long black hair mingling with long
blond curls. Hari curls, if Jillie followed in her footsteps, Meredith thought,
then pushed the idea away. She left the Hari willingly for Simon. He would
never accept that life for Jillie.

“Okay, monkey. Go give Daddy a
special Daddy-hug,” Meredith said, sliding Jillie down to stand on the floor.
Jillie turned to Simon and held her arms wide open, palms flat. She took slow,
sliding steps, watching Simon as carefully as Meredith did. If he stiffened up,
she would stop. But he stayed calm – for him – on the couch, and held out his
hands, palms to the sides to match Jillie’s when she reached him. They clasped
hands, and Jillie pushed against his, leaning with all her might into their
special open hug.

Meredith had figured it out after
they left the Hari. Simon couldn’t tolerate any constriction, nor any light
touch. Nothing the Hari had used to seduce him, to break him, to compel him to
give up the information they wanted.She
couldn’t hug him, or run her fingers playfully over his skin. Face to face, palm
to palm, he could relax enough to accept her body against his.

He had found comfort in her round
belly, lying perpendicular to her, with his ear resting against her skin. He
said he could hear the baby’s heartbeat, and it soothed him. He slept.

When Jillie was born, Simon
cried. He couldn’t hold her without triggering the nightmare memories. Meredith
wrapped her tightly in a blanket and when Jillie slept, lay her on Simon’s
chest. “Now she hears your heartbeat. Let her know it,” she soothed him. He slept.

Meredith slid slowly away from
the doorway. “Okay, monkey. Off to bed with you. Come, I’ll throw you up the
stairs.”

Jillie blew kisses to Simon, who
almost didn’t flinch as her hands fluttered toward him. He tried so hard.
Jillie ran around the couch to Meredith, who grabber around her waist and
pitched her up the stairs. Jillie giggled as she floated down to the top
landing. “Goodnight, Mama,” she called as she climbed into bed.

Meredith tapped the wall panel
for the night sky view. Upstairs and down, the lights dimmed, and the ceilings
disappeared, revealing open starry skies. The effects were seamless, worth
every Hari-credit Meredith had spent. Jillie fell asleep every night watching
for shooting stars. And Simon slept more easily under the open sky, even though
he knew it was illusion.

Note:

Bah! I had a good initial idea/scene, but I think it's wandered too far afield already. What do you think? Are you interested in Simon and Meredith? Curious about the Hari? Want to know more, or ready to move on? Comments welcome!

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Stefan ignored the furtive
glances of the others in the waiting room. He’d had a lifetime of experience
ignoring them, and more. A little girl -- five or six, he guessed, for all he
knew about kids – climbed down from her chair and clattered over to stand in
front of him. The clatter was from her red sparkly shoes, which she had
stylishly paired with baby blue fleece pants and a Lion King sweatshirt. Stefan
looked up from his months-old magazine to see her staring at him intently.

“Are you Dorothy?” he asked her
quietly.

She got it, looking down at her
shoes and rocking back on her heels. With a grin, she said, “No, I’m Emma. Are
you a werewolf?”

Closing his magazine, Stefan
pretended to think about this, stroking his long cheek hair with one furred
hand. “I don’t think so. How would I know?”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Well,” she
said seriously, “do you turn into a wolf?”

“No.”

“Howl at the moon?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Emma copied his movements,
stroking her cheek with her hand. Stefan saw the hospital ID band and a tell-tale
bandaid-covered IV port. “I guess you’re not a werewolf, then.”

“I agree with your diagnosis,”
Stefan said, a twinkle in his eye. Kids never bothered him, the ones who
weren’t mean. Curious wasn’t mean. And they were honest about it.

Emma laughed, a happy,
high-pitched tone. The man she had been sitting with looked up, and Stefan
nodded to him. Don’t worry. I’m not a
freak. I won’t hurt your little girl. The man went back to his magazine.

Emma climbed up next to Stefan,
making herself comfortable. He slid the magazine into the empty chair on his
other side, since she obviously planned to be awhile. “I’m Stefan.”

Emma shook his hand very seriously,
then turned it over in her hand, studying the hair on his fingers and back of
his hand. “Hi Stefan. Why do you have so much hair?”

There. Honest and direct. “It’s
called hypertrichosis. It makes my hair grow crazy fast and long. Why are you
here?” Turn about was fair play, he figured. And children usually thought so
too.

“I’m giving one of my kidneys to
my brother,” Emma said, sitting up proudly. But Stefan heard the little tremor
in her voice and saw the shadow cross her face. Her hand, still holding his,
clenched a little.

Emma was afraid. He looked back
to the man, reading and not paying attention to this beautiful young girl.
Surely not the brother. Her father? Pay
attention! Stefan wanted to shout. He looked back down to Emma, who looked
up at him patiently.

“You’re very brave,” Stefan said.
“I would be scared.”

Emma leaned forward to whisper,
cupping her left hand to her mouth. Stefan bent down to hear her. “I am scared,
Stefan. I was hoping you were a werewolf so you could help me.”

“Black Ice, man. Ima here, all
ears,” Charlie Zickman, known as Black Ice to thousands, or at least dozens of
adoring fans on Lunar Station 7, tossed his playing cards in the air and leaned
against the wall, arms crossed and fingers splayed in an illegal gang salute.
He was never in a gang, but it looked cool, and it really pissed off the
administration, so he used it all the time.

“CZ19374,” the implacable voice
might have carried the slightest hint of irritation, which made Charlie smile.
“Report to loading station three.”

Charlie sketched a middle-finger
salute over his eyebrow and sat silently until the screen went dark. Loading
station three? They were shipping him out. Where? He cued his neural implant to
scan the news and alert him of anything that might be relevant while he packed
his scant belongings into the cotton duffel they allowed each prisoner.

One extra shirt, one extra pair
of loose cotton pants, one thin paper journal and a nub of pencil, one copy of Haiku by Matsu Basho, tattered around
every edge and dog-eared on most pages. A small portfolio with a handful of
paper letters and photos. Not much to show for this two-year gig on Lunar 3, he
thought bitterly.

His implant pinged for his
attention. He sat on the bunk and scanned the search results. News on Earth,
news on the Moon. Hey, he missed the Academy Awards again this year? Wait,
backup. What was that? Ah, very interesting. But where did he fit in? Nothing
to do but go along for the ride, of course.

He picked up his duffel and stood
in front of the door. “Black Ice ready to report to loading station three.”

The door dissolved and he stepped
out, following the lighted path than led him to the loading station. He was
careful to step on the floor lights – if he deviated more than two steps, the hallway
would become electrified and he’d be knocked on his ass. He’d quickly learned
not to give the guards the satisfaction.

Proud member of

Favorite Quotes

You have to start somewhere in order to end up somewhere good!~Margaret S. McGraw

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Be kind, be brave, be fierce, be love.~Laura Anne Gilman

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Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried.~Megan Devine

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Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. ~Mark Twain

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Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars. ~Casey Kasem

When opportunity puckers up, lean in for a smooch. Only a fool tells the angels to come back tomorrow.~Steven Barnes

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Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.~ Dalai Lama

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We’re fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance.~ Japanese proverb

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No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.~ Aesop

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Everything flows, nothing stays.~ Heraclitus

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Balance, always a balance. Work to give life purpose, play to lift the heart, music to soothe the spirit, love to give one strength. One cannot ask for more.~ Pelzmantel, K.A. Laity

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Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.~ 1st part paraphrased from J.M. Barrie, author of Peter Pan; 2nd part from either Plato or (more likely) Philo of Alexandria

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If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives... be kind anyway

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies... succeed anyway

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you... be honest and frank anyway

What you may spend years building, someone may destroy overnight... build anyway

If you find serenity and happiness, people may be jealous... be happy anyway

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow... do good anyway

Give the best you have, and it may never be enough... give the best you have anyway ~ Mother Teresa